Crash the Patriarchy/Original Story
The night life was always bustling in the location where Crash the Bandicoot's games take place. Neither cars nor pedestrians slowed down in their travel towards their goals. The noises of the city kept it alive; people chatted, horns honked, and engines rumbled. The occasional police siren blared in the far distance. Cats roamed the alleys, surely up to mischief. The Happy Mask Salesman politely yet aggressively advertised himself to passer-byers, hoping to get them to buy products from his Ice Cream stand. All of these and more kept the heart of Mushroom City beating. A crosswalk sign changed symbols and colors, and Crash cleared the short distance across one of the many streets in the center of downtown. He walked with the slightest hint of a limp; he had taken shrapnel to his leg during the war, but years of physical therapy had helped him to nearly hide his old injury. Some nights he would think back fondly on his battles against evil, and other nights he would simmer with regret. But the current night would be neither: Crash the Bandicoot had set aside his Saturday evening to relax. With his fifteen-or-so minute walk coming to a close, Crash approached his favorite hole in the wall. He would enter for a night of fun, drinks, and billiards with his friends, and he certainly wasn't going to bring his problems through the door with him. There to greet him was a tall, lanky man wearing rolled up white sleeves and a vest, and sporting purple hair which tapered into a point protruding from his temple. "Crash! My man! How have you been?" the man excitedly called as he stood at the side of the third pool table on the right side of the room. Crash's face lit up, though he held the same expression at all times as his body seemed to have the rigidness of a sports mascot. Rather, the human face hiding behind an ovular opening in the center of Crash the Bandicoot's teeth was the face that lit up with joy. He hastily made his way across the room. "If it isn't my best friend in the world, Slim Bankshot!" Crash expressed his happiness not only through words but through a hug as well, embracing Slim for an unreasonably tender moment. "Woooah, now, big guy," Slim spoke. Though Slim was a tall man, he was positively dwarfed in stature compared to Crash the Bandicoot's oversized costume-like body. "Easy there with the touchy-feely. We still don't know if that dermatitis ya' got's contagious or not." "That's ok, Slim. I've been perscribed Triaminolone Acetonide 0.5% External Cream. That's not a problem anymore," Crash the Bandicoot explained, sounding quite relieved. "That a fact?" Slim asked, impressed. "Well, it's a good thing we're out celebrating, then. C'mon, let's get a game of 8-ball started." Crash grabbed the nearest cue stick. "Hell yeah. Now you're speaking my language." Slim began racking all the balls together in the proper position on the table. "Since today, July 25th, is your official birthday, I'll go ahead and let you take the first shot," he offered, "Go ahead and break 'em, big guy." Crash bent his back so that he could level his eyes with the cue ball as he took aim with his cue stick, but found it impossible to see because his stationary Bandicoot form had no neck to bend and his view stayed fixed on the ground, giving any onlookers the impression that he was slamming his head against the rim of the table. In order to actually play the game properly, Crash had to stand back up and face the table, and then lean his body to the side until forming an almost L-shape. Finally, with his human face eye level to the table, he was able to take his aim at an awkward angle. Holding his cue stick between two of his fingers, he feinted striking the ball a few times, sliding his tool back and forth slowly to visualize where he would attack. With a mighty jab, Crash sent the ball rolling right into the pyramid of other balls, hitting them with a loud crack. The spheres scattered every which way, bouncing and clacking against the walls and against each other. Two of them, one after another, found their destinations within the top right corner pocket. "Looks like you'll be playing for stripes this game," Slim Bankshot commented, conceding Crash another attempt. Crash took much less effort on his second shot, simply standing normally and making his move at waist-height. He blasted the cue ball with decent force, but missed his target completely. Not only did he miss his striped ball, he missed two solid balls, and in fact hit a Fire Emblem Heroes orb, which clacked into four other orbs and knocked all five of them into a pocket in quick succession, summoning a three star unit. "I am Wrys, a humble Priest. I cannot fight, but this staff I carry can heal your wounded. Take me with you, and you'll be very glad you did." "Hey hey, ya' missed, pal," Slim chuckled, he himself at work rubbing a square of Rudy Taboodie's magic chalk onto the end of his own cue stick. "It's my turn, now." Slim needed very little preparation before making his move. After little more than a quick glance at the table, he walked over to his ideal standing point, and struck the cue ball. It ricocheted wildly against the walls several times, hitting four balls into pockets along the way. "Damn, you're still so good at this," Crash complimented. "Thanks. I went to college," Slim replied. The pool pro walked around the table to gauge where to best take his next shot. "So, Slim, my friend, how have you been lately?" Crash asked. Slim chuckled without changing his pose in the slightest, remaining perfectly poised to strike. "I've been doing just dandy lately. Got that big promotion at work and everything." "Niiice," Crash praised, "Moving up in the world, eh? It's about time, too. How long you been working at Hocotate Freight?" "Going on three years now!" Slim excitedly answered, hitting the cue ball with a sharp clack. Two more balls found themselves within pockets. "How about you? How's the job going?" "Ehhh," Crash sighed, "I'm not at 7-11 anymore. I've been hopping from place to place, going wherever there's work that needs going." "You really gotta fix those drifter ways'a yours. With all the travel and transition, you're gonna feel restless when you do end up settling down," his ghostly-blue friend warned. "Ain't nothin' wrong with driftin' from time ta time," another man entering the club spoke from across the room, walking towards the two companions playing pool. The man was dressed as if he were a vagabond, carrying nothing but a napsack on a stick and a six string guitar on his back. He sported short hair under a brown hat, and wore a messy beard. "There's a whole giant world out there, and you'll never see it if ya' don't go exploring." "Oh man!" Crash shouted with surprise, "If it isn't my OTHER best friend in the whole world, Ernest Hemingway!" The two embraced for a moment, before Ernest took out a lighter and a carton of cigarettes, one of which he held between his teeth. As the lighter clicked away with swipes of his thumb, he gestured to offer Crash a cig sticking out from the box. The Bandicoot politely declined. The traveler kept the offer open, turning the box towards Slim. "No thanks, I don't smoke cigarettes," Slim explained, "Do you have any weed instead?" "Let me check my other pocket," Ernest replied, scrummaging through his person. The weed was located, and shortly thereafter the two of them toked. Seeing as how the game had already started, Ernest stayed on the sidelines observing. "So, Ernest," Crash the Bandicoot asked, "What have you been up to these days?" "Oh, you know. The usual. Substitute teaching here and there from place to place. When I'm back home in Mushroom City, I coach a children's hockey league." Slim finally missed a shot, perhaps due to being impaired by drugs. "Drat. I guess it's your turn, Crash." The Bandicoot slowly lumbered over to his spot of choice, took aim, and launched the cue ball. His angle was off completely, and he sent the ball flying off of the table. It went soaring to the next table over, where it hit a bald man with yellow shades in the kidney. The man cried out in pain and fell over onto his face, which allowed a woman he was harassing to escape and leave the building. "D-DAMN BRAT! I'LL SUE!!" the man shouted angrily, gritting his teeth. He was mostly ignored, and he was very drunk, so he passed out onto the floor shortly after. "You ok, Crash?" Bankshot questioned, "You're game's off tonight. You've been actin' kinda funny, too." "It's just... life stuff, you know?" the Bandicoot replied. His eyes were red and he lightly coughed every few moments, as his friend's weed clouds were beginning to hotbox him inside of his suit-like Bandicoot body. "Anything you want to talk about?" Ernest pressed on. "I mean, it's just kinda stressful... I was hoping to avoid discussing it on our boy's night out, ya' know?" Crash sighed. He placed his elbow on the pool table, and he intended to prop his arm up in an L-shape so he could rest his head against his fist, but quickly found out that his arms weren't flexible enough to bend that far. "Well, guys... it's just... I think I may have made a terrible mistake. I'm worried I really fucked up." The ambiance of chatting patrons, clacking pool balls, and spinning ceiling fans, never ceased making noise. But, to those listening to Crash, the room had certainly felt as if it had gone quiet for a few uncomfortable moments. "Well, out with it! What's the problem, my man?" Ernest Hemingway pressured. Crash found it difficult to speak his mind through the thick cloud of tension and stress which surrounded him. "Guys... I think I got my girlfriend pregnant." Slim spit out his fruit smoothie, splattering the back of the coat of the previously-belligerent drunk man passed out on the floor. "What? Irene? Irene's pregnant?" "Congratulations!" Ernest cheered, grabbing Crash's oversized hands to enthusiastically shake them. "No, you don't get it, Ernest! I'm not ready to be a dad!" Crash raised his voice back, shaking his head. "I don't have the money or the time or the energy... what am I going to do..." "How did a Bandicoot get a girl pregnant?" Hemingway asked. Crash used his enormous felt hands to scratch his human beard on his human face in thought. "I don't know. Don't ask me." "Geeze, dude," Slim mumbled regretfully, realizing he had no tact for heavy situations such as the present one. "Didn't you use a condom or something?" "Her family's hardcore Italian Catholic, man!" Crash frantically returned. "Ah, so you're a risk taker," Hemingway commented, "I can respect that. Risk takers get far in life." "You're seriously missing the fucking point here, my guy," Crash moaned back, his head in his hands, "My life is about to flip upside down because of this. I'm totally at a loss of what to do." A bellowing, evil voice echoed throughout the room. "MUWHAHAHA! What's the matter, Crash? Is it, perhaps, that I have come to wreak havoc at the worst possible time!? BAHAHAHA!!!" "Who in the world could that be?" Slim wondered. "That's RIGHT, Crash the Bandicoot! It is I, your arch-nemesis, Professor N on His Head!!" A man stepped out from the shadows. He was very yellow, wore a coat, sported a beard, and had a very big noggin (The big N on his head stands for big Noggin). He held up a laser pistol and aimed it threateningly at Crash and Crash's friends. "Nice try, loser," Crash scoffed, "I don't know who you are, but you aren't my mortal enemy!" A gunshot pierced through the noise of the room. Professor N on His Head shouted with a yipe. As it turned out, he had been shot in the hand, causing him to drop his laser pistol. He reeled in pain, dropping down to the floor and using his uninjured hand to help him hop out of the room like a running gorilla, all the while snarling and growling. He skittered into the shadows, and with that he was gone. Crash the Bandicoot and his crew turned to the source of the noise, and could see the smoking barrel of a revolver protruding out from the darkness. An even more sinister, grungy voice seemed to emanate from whoever held the gun. "Bravo, Crash, you were able to see right through my clever plot to fool you. As expected as my true rival." "I'd know that voice anywhere..." Crash spoke aloud, "That's the voice of my one and only arch-nemesis..." "That's RIGHT, Crash the Bandicoot! It is I, your arch-nemesis, The Dirty Bubble!!" The super villain stepped out from the shadows, revealing himself to be who he claimed. "Shit!" Crash shouted, "Shit! he shouted again, before pausing for several moments. "Shit!" he shouted a third time. "Not this time, bitch!" Ernest Hemingway shouted. Rallying the troops, he charged the Dirty Bubble with Crash the Bandicoot and Slim Bankshot at his sides, all three of them running with their arms stretched out like in Naruto. Bankshot and Hemingway grabbed each of the Dirty Bubble's arms and threw him against a nearby pool table to hold him down. As the Dirty Bubble struggled, Crash repeatedly punched the hell out of him in the center torso. "Ok, ok! I give! I give!" the Bubble pleaded, begging for mercy. The villain was released, and he dusted himself off. He slowly but surely went to stand in the corner and think about what he'd done. Crash's phone rang. He pulled it out of his pants pocket and looked at the screen. "Oh, hey! It's my GF!" he explained. He tried to tap the screen to accept the call, but his phone screen wouldn't recognize touch through Crash's fabric-y fingers. He held the phone out to Slim, who answered the call for him and then handed him the phone. "Irene? How are you doing, sweetie?" His friends waited respectfully as his phone conversation continued. "No, I haven't forgotten to get the milk and eggs, I'll have them when I get back to the apartment. ... Listen, I think we need to talk about- ... yes, I know- ... I'm sorry for bringing it up... .............. listen, it's just- what do you mean I sound high? You must be imagining things. ... Yeah, I agree, we should just move on to the next topic- wait, what? Are you serious? ........... Oh man! I can't believe it!" Crash held his hand over his phone speaker to talk with his boys. "Guys, it was a false alarm! No baby!" The two companions replied with the looks of relief on their faces. "... mhm. Yep. Love you too, tootz. See you soon. Goodnight, Irene." Crash ended the call. "Man. What a load off my mind." "So, everything is hunky dory in Crash's world now?" Slim asked. "Yessir! The state of the Crash Bandicoot Franchise couldn't be better! Be sure and pick up a copy of the Crash Bandicoot N. Sane Trilogy, in stores and on PS4 shop now!" "What do you say we all call it a night, boys?" Ernest suggested. "Sounds like a plan!" Slim agreed. The three of them left the pub and hopped into George Jetson's hovercar to fly home. Mood * Playing: Crash Bandicoot Category:Original Stories